


No Second Thoughts

by byesweetheart (ConstantComment)



Series: Numbers [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Established Relationship, Introduction to D/s, M/M, Praise Kink, Soft Dom Bokuto, Tickling, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15077414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/byesweetheart
Summary: Hinata blushes, but he doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it behind him. Instead, he says, “I’ll do whatever you want.”Koutarou’s face goes a little blank. “Shouyou?”“Whatever you want, Koutarou… Whatever you tell me.”





	No Second Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> So a whiiiile back I mentioned I wanted to continue my Kinktober story after Bokuto and Hinata’s passionate first meeting, and here we are! This fic can possibly stand alone, but if you want to start at the beginning (first meeting, first time with college varsity volley athlete Hinata and working man Bokuto), aptly named First Sight :P then click back in this series!

Hinata is helpless. Fingers drag up the outside of his thighs like a whisper, only barely glancing over the bunched fabric of the underwear at his hips before moving over the skin of his belly. He shivers, hands gripping his own wrists behind him and knuckles bumping the solid stomach he arches against. Lips touch his ear in an indulgent smile, and the fingers pass over him again, nearly— _nearly_ —curling around him where he needs it most before moving on to tickle down his inner thighs to his spread knees. 

He sucks in a deep breath, whines a little before the noise strangles itself inside a desperate giggle, and when the hands move back up slow, slow, slow, and this time rub with just _two_ fingers over his underwear, he feels excited breath on his neck and the big thighs he’s straddling tense, and feels his body react as if it’s not his own. He leaks precome until he’s soaked through, and those lips, those excited breaths, move together to murmur into his hair. 

“You’re perfect!” 

Around him is this little studio apartment, the kitchenette clean and unused except for a pack of fancy beer, two bottles abandoned with their caps upturned on the countertop. The TV plays a movie menu low on an infinite loop and the flashes of blue, red, orange flicker over their knees spread on the tiny striped couch. 

His flip-flops are at the door beside a pair of trendy yellow sneakers, a heather-gray sweatshirt hung on a peg above, one he’s borrowed so many times when he goes back to his dorm on campus that he can hardly sleep without it. His gym bag is on its side between the sweatshirt and the coffee table, and his sweatpants he shoved on after his post-match shower are puddled on the floor between the coffee table and the couch next to their bare feet. He still has his college shirt on, the one with the comet blazing over one shoulder and across his chest, but the bottom of it is tucked between his teeth, and it grows wet and stretched with drool the longer they go, the more he squirms and twitches between his legs. 

“You’re doing so well, Shou—all pretty and red in my lap…” 

Big warm palms move up his ribs and he wriggles a little, squeezing his wrists _hard_ when fingers circle his nipples and play with them gently. He starts nudging his hips at the air, needing friction but only kneading at the hard-on he’s currently perched on top of. A light groan pours right into his ear, and Hinata circles his hips, nerves fizzling through the pinpoints of pleasure being drawn from his chest. 

When Hinata leans his head on a muscled shoulder and the shirt pops free, he opens his eyes and glimpses his boyfriend’s enraptured face, feels his hand move like a quick between Hinata’s legs again and press the heel of it just under the head. Long fingers cup his whole length and begin to rub rhythmically and it makes Hinata’s head go fuzzy and his thighs jerk. 

“K-Koutarou I’m gonna— _burst!”_

The fingers wrapped carefully around him, around his underwear, speed up for a moment. “You did amazing today. Watching you play? Is incredible. Always want you to feel as good as it feels to see you score a point,” Koutarou rumbles. His other hand grips Hinata’s hip in the way they both like and his thumb catches on Hinata’s waistband like he’s going to get him skin-on-skin. One finger slips across Hinata’s drooling slit, but then he retreats and Hinata wails a little. His hand moves instead up to Hinata’s mouth and waits for Hinata’s lips to kiss it, to close around it. He tastes salt on his tongue. Hinata sucks and hums at the growl in Koutarou’s voice when he continues, “Go ahead, cutie. S’alright,” 

To his own surprise, Hinata pops off of Koutarou’s fingers and moans, “No!” from deep in his throat. 

“Shouyou,” Koutarou laughs a little. By now he can’t help the tiny little screwing motion of his hips, his dick thick-hard and nudging right between Shouyou’s cheeks. “Why not?” 

Hinata doesn’t quite know until Koutarou’s other hand stops to grind Hinata’s body into his own a little absently. He’s always too patient, and always insists Shouyou be taken care of first! “Wanna get you off,” Hinata says, and Koutarou kisses his jaw. 

“Is that so?” 

“Please, please.” 

Koutarou’s fingers still, and so Hinata takes that as permission to struggle to stand on his shaky legs. Not that Koutarou ever would stop him from doing what he wanted. Not that he’d ever say, _No,_ and insist Hinata stay exactly where he was, do exactly as he was told. Scold him if he dared to disobey. 

Flexing his fingers, he glances at his reddened wrists and ponders why Koutarou doesn’t ask that. But, still asks Hinata these things—why he sometimes likes to tell him to hold the headboard in bed, or put his hands far apart on the tiles in the shower, or hold his wrists tight when they’re fooling around on the couch. He likes completely devoting his own hands to Hinata’s body, and he clearly likes when Hinata eagerly does as he asks (because he knows he’ll love whatever Koutarou does with him). He especially likes that part, when Hinata doesn’t argue.

Hinata bites his lip. There’s something thrilling about that idea growing into not just an idea, something new and dangerous. Even though Koutarou is the person he feels safest with in the whole world. Maybe _because_ Koutarou is that person, his person. 

“Cutie,” Koutarou says behind him. His voice is always so kind even when he’s loud, even when he’s upset, but especially when they’re alone. One big hand touches the small of Hinata’s back like he can’t stand more than a second being disconnected. “You okay?” 

Hinata grins. He turns and lets those square fingers trace around his waist to his belly-button over his messy shirt. Looking Koutarou in his bright eyes, Hinata hooks his thumbs into his waistband and slips his briefs down over his hips. 

Koutarou’s mouth parts, his grin battling with an intense stare as Hinata kicks his underwear under the coffee table and looks down at him, still leaned back on the couch with his broad, round shoulders spread across the back. His forearms are still corded and tan, one of Hinata’s favorite things to appreciate when they’re in public, and his pecs are broad, and his stomach is a little softer than it was in college (so he says) but still nice and solid and, when he flexes, when he’s about to come, muscled and… well, lickable. Hinata loves the cut of muscle above his hipbones, especially, and the little wrinkle that appears when he’s sitting like he is, making an arrow that points down between his thick thighs at his dick and balls—obvious under his thin white boxers hiked up his legs. 

The only thing Hinata misses from this picture is Koutarou’s butt. He has a fantastic bubbly butt, and likes it squeezed, bit into with harsh fingers, when they’re making love, screwing deep into Hinata until he makes a mess inside him. 

“Looks like you’re okay, after all,” Koutarou says with a grin. 

Hinata blushes, but he doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls his shirt over his head and throws it behind him. Instead, he says, “I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Koutarou’s face goes a little blank. “Shouyou?” 

“Whatever you want, Koutarou… Whatever you tell me.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment, and Shouyou’s dick tightens with anticipation. 

Koutarou clears his throat, and then he says, quiet, “Kiss me.” 

“Koutarou!” Hinata’s shoulders slump as he giggles, disbelieving. 

“On your knees.” Koutarou continues with a smile, but his eyes are intense. “Kiss my cock.” 

Hinata’s heart screeches to a halt before it starts up again _battering_ in his ribcage. Slowly, he kneels and slowly he reaches for Koutarou’s boxers afraid he won’t do it all that well but still sure that he’ll love whatever Koutarou asks of him. 

He pulls Koutarou’s dick from the opening in his boxers and presses a lingering, wet, sucking kiss to the shiny head. 

+++++ 

Hinata wishes he knew Bokuto Koutarou when he was younger, when he played volleyball, sometimes. Wishes he’d seen him—not at peak fitness or anything like that, but when he felt connected to something, felt confident, felt himself. 

Hinata knows Koutarou isn’t unhappy, not so dissatisfied with his life that he mopes or gets slow and sad too regularly, but he also knows that Koutarou is best around people, best around his friends, being a leader and an advisor, not an accountant who (and Hinata is fuzzy on this because he’s the _worst_ with anything having to do with numbers or or money or adult things like office jobs) who manages ‘manpower.’ 

He knows that the first night they met, the night that Hinata fell for him like a star falling into the earth—at the speed of light—that Koutarou was getting something he hadn’t gotten in a while. The moment they knew each other’s names, it was electric, an instant friendship, and an instant attraction. Like magnets pulled, no, dragged toward each other until they crashed and touched. 

Hinata wonders if a lot of it is in his head, but he hates leaving Koutarou to go back to his dorm, to go to school or on days-long trips to tournaments, because Koutarou is best when he’s not alone. But maybe that’s Hinata, too. 

They’re best together. 

He’s never felt like he does with Koutarou. Never had the chance, maybe, but he never really _wanted_ the chance before. Nothing drew his attention like volleyball does, until Koutarou. Which is funny, since Koutarou used to be an ace like him. 

Hinata gets grumpy about not being able to play with him a lot more often than he tells Koutarou. The power he must have had, and the bond with his teammates he must have had, and the _fun_ it must have been to play with him! The clarity it must have brought to have him as a captain. 

To huddle together and listen to him plan out their next play, to hear him champion the team, to listen to his words and feel confident, like he could do anything. 

Hinata shifts under the covers in Koutarou’s bed, feeling the ache through his whole body as he stretches a little and moves his leg over the soft, cool sheets until his toes touch Koutarou’s calf. Everything smells clean like lemongrass, since Koutarou stripped the bed and carried him into the shower after they—they _fucked_ on the bed. He’s still tender between his legs, can feel a light bruise forming around his hip and on his shoulder where Koutarou held him and slammed into him again and again, their sweat dripping all over, groans loud and a little wild with Hinata’s face and chest shoved into the mattress, ass up in the air and thighs trembling. 

“Awh, fuck, Shou—you feel so tight, just sucking me in just like your pretty mouth! Coulda come down your throat but I wanted this, wanted inside you—ungh, you’re so hot, I—” Koutarou’s own heaving breaths had constantly interrupted his babbling, his poetry, unlike any of the other times they’d been together, when Shouyou was the one falling apart and Koutarou gentling him through it. “Shouyou, Shouyou, you’re so good for me, taking my big cock inside. You’re perfect, I’m so— _fuck, fuck, fuck—”_

Hinata had screamed himself hoarse from the split-wide feeling, the way Koutarou filled him up, the way the head of his cock dragged over the sheets or smacked against his belly with every thundering thrust of their bodies. 

“Kou—” Hinata had choked out, and Koutarou had answered, ordering him to sing, commanding that Hinata tell him how he felt. “I’m so full, K-Koutarou, it’s too much I’m gonna—” 

“Don’t come yet,” Koutarou had snapped, and Hinata had frozen up with fizzling pleasure, even when he slammed into his prostate over and over, making him scrape his vocal cords raw. 

“Koutarou, _Koutarou!_ Too much!” 

“You can do it, Shou. You’re so good, I love—c’mon fuck back onto me, yeah.” 

There hadn’t been as much laughter that time—too much of something else to have room for their usual jokes and silliness. As tired as he is, his belly still coils tight from the recent memory, from the thought of the puddle of come he’d left in the middle of the bed and the heat that filled him up when Koutarou finally let him _let go._ But after, there was something like relief. He lay beneath Koutarou, flattened to the bed and blank from the heaviness, blank from following orders, from doing so well he made his boyfriend come maybe a little sooner than planned. But when Koutarou had rolled off to the side and pulled him into his arms, his grin stoked that bubbly feeling again, and Shouyou had laughed, and then Koutarou had laughed too. 

So happy. 

He turns and looks at his boyfriend sleeping under the dim light from the window behind them. His face is soft from sleep, turned toward Hinata on his pillow, arm tucked beneath it and chest bare down to his belly-button where the sheets pool. There’s no wrinkle between his eyes like there sometimes is when Hinata watches him sleeping. He looks calm and peaceful and easy. 

That’s how Koutarou makes him feel, too. He could hear him cheering from the stands hours ago at his game, could hear him shout to jump higher, spike harder, run faster, and it was like fresh air to hear it, like the sky clearing after the rain, like everything made sense. 

Like tonight. 

Hinata scoots toward him until he is tucked against his side, leaning over his face where he can trace his dramatic eyebrows and stroke down the bridge of his nose. 

Koutarou stirs a little but his eyes don’t open, he just sighs and murmurs, “Little ace?” like he sometimes does when he’s very, very sleepy or very, very drunk. It only beats out when he calls Hinata ‘cutie’ (the nickname he’s more comfortable tossing around) by a tiny margin, but it’s still the _best thing ever._ It makes him go warm and syrupy all over. 

“Sorry. Go back to sleep,” Hinata whispers, and Koutarou does easily, slow breath puffing past his plush lips. 

Hinata looks at him for a while, until something small slips out of his mouth. “I love you,” he mumbles, and tucks his head against his chest after he’s certain Koutarou won’t stir again. 

+++++ 

“Yes,” Koutarou rasps when Hinata final takes him between his lips, after he lays him on his tongue and sucks wetly for a few searching moments. “Good, Shou, so good. Keep going. Tap my leg if you need to stop.” 

Hinata shakes a little with the praise, humming when Koutarou’s hand moves to his hair and pets him before holding him at the roots with a strong grip. It feels almost as good as moments before, when Koutarou ordered him to kneel. Hinata wrings him up and down like he likes, and then follows up and down with his tongue, fingers gripping the base and his thigh as he lets spit slip over his shaft and over his balls. He circles his dick in his hand as he moves the fabric aside and noses his balls, then sucks them lightly, before inching back up and lapping at the salty slick that’s been gathering at the tip. He mouths at his head, rubbing his lips over the underside and feeling him twitch at each pass, and like they’re connected by an invisible string, he feels himself twitch and leak onto the floor between his knees. 

“Fuck,” Koutarou whispers, and Hinata flutters his eyes to look up at him eagerly. He shoves his boxers off and they fall to the ground between them. “Suck me. And keep your hands up here where I can see them.” 

Hinata’s lips already stretch around his dick, thick as it is, but even though he’ll probably choke (he has the few times he’s tried before), he breathes through his nose and fits more into his mouth, and when he’s got too much down his throat he swallows, and swallows again, and his eyes water and he pulls off with a heaving breath. 

Before anyone can say a thing, Hinata dives back in and shoves down onto Koutarou’s dick, sucking and bobbing over him until the dirty, sloppy noises drown out the low music still looping on the TV screen. 

“Oh, cutie, you’re getting so messy,” Koutarou says, teasing, but his voice shakes a little when Hinata moans and sucks harder. 

His jaw aches already but he wants to keep going, he _wants_ Koutarou to get messy too, and even though he’ll always be more put together than Hinata, things start to unravel as Shouyou takes both his hands and wraps them around his shaft, fucking up and down and sucking up to his head with each pass until Koutarou can’t string much of a sentence together. 

“Look’t you,” Koutarou groans, deep. “You’re doing so good, kissing me, sucking me just like I told you.” 

“Mmm!” Shouyou tries around him, and that inspires a huffing, stuttering laugh. 

“Yeah, Shou. Wow, _wow,_ fuck!” 

Hinata slips onto him again, and this time he relaxes his throat until he’s almost swallowed him whole, nose tickled by Koutarou’s thatch of hair at the base, eyes closing against the roaring tension in his body. 

And Koutarou _loses it._

“Aahn! Shit, shit, shit—Shouyou, I need you on the bed, right now!” 

Like a flipped switch, Hinata pops off of Koutarou’s dick and watches it slap against his abs, coughing, tears slipping out of his eyes, before Koutarou moves forward and stands like a man on a mission. His hand is still in Hinata’s hair, and Hinata blinks up at him, holds Koutarou’s thighs instead of squeezing his own dick even though he’s teetering just as close to the edge as Koutarou is, with his angry-red dick jutting into the air between them. 

Koutarou looks down at him with an enraptured expression, and like it was pulled from him, like a reflex, like it was commanded on the court, Hinata gasps, hoarse and desperate, “ _Yes, Captain._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> !!!! THANKS FOR READING !!!!
> 
> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://byesweetheart.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/byesweetheart_)!


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